


A Winter's Evening

by notjustmom



Series: February 2019 [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 10:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17896526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: Day 22: “The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.” ― Virginia Woolfquiltorange





	A Winter's Evening

Even now, when he was able to gaze into the dark blue eyes as often as he wished, he still had moments when he wondered, what it was exactly, that kept him by his side all these years. They didn't speak of the past often, as they both needed to exist in the time they had now, as if they were aware of time speeding past, but once in a while, as he was just nodding off, John would sometimes tell him all the things he thought of, all the things he kept to himself. 

He wanted to open his eyes and let him see, let him know that he too, was afraid sometimes, that he wasn't always the smartest one in the room, but he wanted to know, needed to know what was in his friend's and now lover's thoughts, and he was too aware that there were reasons John waited until he was asleep before he began to speak. 

John finished with a sigh and a kiss to his forehead, then whispered softly, "I know you aren't asleep, my lovely idiot. But thank you for letting me say all that aloud. There are days when I need to remind myself that I exist without you seeing me - I know it doesn't make sense, but there are times when I wonder, honestly, what it is about me -"

Sherlock opened his eyes and reached up to brush the slightly overlong fringe from John's eyes. "The day we met, the first time you looked into my eyes, I wanted to know you, see you, all the broken bits that you try to hide from the world, and I still, even now - am trapped, no, not what I meant - words - as you well know -"

"Difficult."

Sherlock nodded and he knew John understood, as he always had, even when - he shook his head, as if trying to clear the thoughts that raced through his mind, then took John's offered hand and followed him in silence to their room, where he was undressed efficiently, but gently as always, then tucked into bed, under the faded orange quilt that someone had spent months, if not years making. He never asked after the identity of the maker, he only knew that it was one of the few things that had survived John's childhood, someone had loved him enough -

John's voice rumbled lightly at his ear, "my grandmother. She was the only person before you who honestly loved me. Any other mysteries will have to be solved tomorrow. Rest now, my heart." Sherlock searched for John's hands, then tangled their fingers together, and sighed as he felt John's lips brush over his shoulder. "Just rest. I'll be here."

"I know." He closed his eyes and let the sound of John's breathing ease him to sleep.


End file.
